and today

i wonder if I can be helped
i am so powerful, in my opposition

there is no one to blame except everyone
who has anything to do with all this

this is where I have to start 
with my arms wrapped around everything

today I see "goodyear" anew, the winged foot

hermes in burbank, in its exile (august)

hermes emails me a confirmation

when I pay to park at school

medeival prosperity casts

big commercial shape

shadow, googling

shade in LA

giving up before the page loads and

i guess, i'd like to start over with time. in larger pieces. i understand the value of living minute to minute, to step inside the small increment and comprehend its frame...or, to use the small increment as permission to renounce comprehension? perhaps there are different time scales for different purposes. this is confusing, and the for the purposes of confusion, go big?

but when big ends at 11 minutes of hot metal

how to swivel, images between me and everything 

my laptop melting into a pile of metal recycling

my laptop won't stay open for any online

appointment: same day vulcanization

for the morning i kept believing i was younger--

real?summer

I came across a sort of star 

or moon based prediction that said 

talkative, big, horse, g

[g] for key, the piano on the front porch

played in a thunderstorm

the trees harvest the fog and

we the AC-- spiral the fans until 

the clouds eat the sun

spiral the fans until the clouds eat

the light at a slow pace

I was eating the sun

and it was light a slow pace

he never gave the light divine attributes

but shed it on the other thing, suspended

yellow pages for maché or pranks

the sun got numberless and radiance multiplied

color became an interior red 

koolaid in dark green 

June with death in it

the angel entrance to the elk path 

you enter top right and cruise 

the place for proof of life

something unadorned worth circling, 

a round envelope of emergency contacts 

and other types of angels

supine, ascendent

for years it was you who captured my attention

but now that grip is loose, and my attention 

has shifted to the years themselves

my free will redistributed 

and when my love gets beneath its word

and liquid, I can delete you, finally

draw your name for whole clocks 

every pain and every joy, every thought and sigh

this spider and this moonlight between the trees

would you not curse the demon you spoke thus?

Man with hot pink rain pants 
and a purple sweatshirt on a bike
Brown plastic chair on the eave of a roof facing the sun 
the house with the day bed and art supplies
in the front room forever dusty untouched
grading my overall performance 
with my evil little mind
be simple
water my own flowers
inkling 
fantasy
dream I’m helping my older sister process drugs to sell 
alone at a desk in a room lined with tall shoe racks and old shoes
fist sized colored glass stones all different deep reds and pinks and mints that I’m to crush into powder
I wake up complicit and can’t fall back asleep 
washing my thoughts
hanging them up around the house
over the patio furniture
familiar paradise
one good hand painted sign 
would change everything today
one good poem
One of those digital bees hovering closer and closer to me
Rubbing my eyes till pixels distort and fly in all directions

pet 1 two six

blurry days but note they're different

attitude chiropractor

ask not what your boyfriend can do for you...

between me/myself

i walk at night to the ocean

sing my own songs

the sky is unreal big and dark

with countable stars and satellites

waiting for a new clue to worship

this week the beautiful things

are so tiny

in fact there's no time for them

i've been living outside myself

big possible

impulse to tell the couple carefully placing 

the newborn in a stroller

that one day it will be a 32 year old woman

taking a nap in her car on her lunch break

yesterday songs made me feel things

another 15 in my car

just in the parking lot

it is raining on my car

and my body is cold under my clothes

and I try to feel like, high school inspired

point

what i want to say

i want to just

present my heart

a record that is personal

and in the present tense

a where have i been

a what have i been thinking

for the past 5 years

it may all be enough

or more than i've thought it was

i always want to hear the most personal

not as in a trauma mapping

but as in the hyper specific

impressions and delusions 

we all have

i want to say that my reality is office mundane

and the flipcoin to a genocide

that i want to be stronger than all of it

but i am tightroping 

the idea that some are 

bitten by angels

and others are kissed

by death

and we want to fight

for each other 

but the divide is on purpose

the distance just by chance

i want to be

an enemy of the smooth 

the everyone a pop star

lying by omission

for the sake of the package

claiming style 

with no margin of error 

omitting marginalia

omitting uncertainty

claiming a selfhood

unique, solid

as brandishable as a weapon

brandishing brand

so tired of looking at that

untitled (physical graffiti)

I wish it could be so both

like 2 tights and 2 looses

could get between around I mean

I live here, crawling over the lucite sphere 

of the mix all clammy by get I mean into 

taste the latent painting,

the subterranean set of facts or

do I draw? dancers pulling silk scarves from 

the center of an old tire this tilted memory 

palace postcard holographic and 

psychic you passing cloud black 

and yellow buff like a chance 

Rothko, jealous 

of such crystalized obsession

me doing everything erasing

itself while power just is 

everything around the corner

it’s the morning everything

comes to me, the morning

I see everything getting warmer

everything on fire I always try to

do everything [it] gets watery

while spirit just is where it is 

and was, a Whole Lotta Love

conjures time in full, drops of 

fog drown my song

the mist rushes up from the canyon

the valley is really a V

forgot about god and wet water 

'til it came backwards to me

the dream was all night

missing some Bolinas type 

cliff, archer watching me

in the rain she said mural as

I walked on the broken roof 

tuned to the entire radio

Morgan and Alice

something about making meaning anyway

despite the tech between a feeling and its expression

be it: Traditional Art, as my students delineate

or premiere pro, where I spend an hour

adding echo to the word bloom 

Morgan Wallen’s melodies…enchant? 

me, thesaurus.com tiled with 

girls in bathing suits

morning ends and details 

get remote but

tonight I’m good

with however much sunset 

reaches my frame

he sings bloom so it falls 

off [the chorus] from an amazingly

low height

a different he said he didn’t know what to say anymore

but I’m glad he said that and the sun

wraps my left eye

the hot and the cold are separate but do mix

Alice says, cancel each other out 

we said hot fudge sundae cranked 

AC with the windows down in 

summer

when the waymos turn the corner

a void, where anyone might put a song

dream the dad of him, he, who was 2 people

was doing exercises, copying me, or me him?

I’m a little Alice pilled, disobedient

slept so classic SF cold air to 

touch and dreams tinged 

with said hot fudge

of course language 

has its own barbs plus

I’m a slow, two fingered typist

meanwhile the jackhammer outside

Ouijas my emoji selection 

If this is a diary

is it worthless

like life?

already here (LA)

summer is so parking break

static, ascendant

tires bald and turned toward the red curb

watching the clock I guess

time wears hurt, fitted

to the minute hand 

it rides and still,

I want the evening to be huge

for dusk to hold

once, I never missed it

when the moon was bright and cut by phone wires

the days were full circles with meeting ends

today my exhaust pipe drags

scraping the red curbs back natural

why not diagnose the whole city?

feelings fall out my new boots

and a paper skirt shows me 

a circle of pictures that spill 

into dreams— liquid, 

federal, half legible, 

night, 

cross the border both ways

without

words, the heavy stones I roll

organic and incorrect I can’t

find sexy let alone true

so where is language in its inundation

a cup full of caution tape

an insufficient sadness

memories double exposed

with total concrete

and softening tar

how free do you think?

late June cut late July

sick, and the day 

unhooks me

the way the world looks

all its things hot

burning holes to their fine print